


Palm Beach

by fictocriticism



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Beach Sex, First Time, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictocriticism/pseuds/fictocriticism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the end of summer and they’re at the beach. Things get a little out of hand. Or in hand, depending on how you look at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palm Beach

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a long time ago and tried to finish it off in one hit. Not beta’d and a little cracky to begin with. Please feel free to point out errors/Australianisms. As always, a fictional story about fictional versions of real people.

Darren leaned back onto his hands and closed his eyes. He would probably live on a beach if he could. Or a beach house -- probably a beach house rather than the actual beach. For amenities. Although living on the beach might mean never having to shave and in general that was something he was happy to live with. He ran a hand over his chin, rubbing at the scruff growing there, and letting out a pleased sigh.

“And the self-fondling begins,” Chris drawled from beside him. “I need another drink for this.”

Chris hauled himself off up, brushing sand off his jeans, and Darren rolled his eyes mostly internally because he couldn’t remember a time that he saw Chris’ legs in another other than jeans. And seriously, they were on a beach -- if you couldn’t wear shorts on a beach, when could you?

“Is this seat taken?” a deep voice asked, and before Darren could respond, Grant was dropping down into the mark Chris’ ass had left. He kicked a bit of sand up as he settled in, pulling his legs in front of him so he was sitting indian style and _hey_ , Grant was wearing shorts! Darren could see his knees and his calves and his bare feet. Darren reached over and poked at his ankle.

“Excellent choice of skin, man,” Darren said, and he could feel his eyes going crinkly when he smiled and knew that he was probably bordering onto too much alcohol for safety purposes.

Across the circle, Lea was sprawled across Cory’s lap and was she -- yeah, she was licking under his jaw. It was certainly what Darren would classify a safe space with just the cast and a few known friends on a secluded beach at a time that wouldn’t really be considered beach weather. But one could never be too careful. Thank you Perez.

So when Chris came back with a second drink in his hand, he passed it to Grant and watched as Grant sipped it carefully.

“I miss Sebastian, man,” Darren said, watching Grant’s throat swallow. He liked the way dusk was casting shadows on Grant’s face, making him mysterious. Grant was such an All American Boy in a lot of ways: hair a little blonder after a summer in the sun; lean yet muscular; _tall_. Darren was _not_ an All American Boy: Darren was hairy, and short, with unruly hair. Darren was -- well, the important thing was that Grant looked nice in the shadowy light next to him, sipping his undoubtedly toxic Colfer concoction.

“I think you would make an excellent Peter Pan,” Darren said, and let his elbows bend until he flopped onto his back, wincing when a bit of sand flicked onto his face.

“What?” Grant asked in that bemused tone that he so often used when talking to Darren. Darren was used to it from many people in his life, so he didn’t take it too personally.

“Peter Pan. I mean, I know he’s British, but I think you’ve got the look for it.”

“Thanks man!” Grant said, and his voice was warm now. “I used to love Peter Pan when I was a kid. I probably watched _Hook_ about a million times.”

“Fuck yeah, that movie is great,” Darren said. His hands were under his head now and he could feel the sand between his toes and life was great.

“If I could be on Broadway--”

“Again,” Grant interjected with a laugh.

“ _Again_ ,” Darren acknowledged. “I would be in something amazing. Probably something new. Maybe I’d write something.”

“I’m sure you could.”

They lapsed into silence then, Grant sipping a bit more of his drink and Darren thinking about musicals about skin and maybe something where everyone had to wear shorts.

It has great potential, he thought. It would also be economically attractive for the costume budget.

“Hey, Darren?” Grant asked. Darren glanced over and saw Grant was now lying down too, his cup pushed into the sand next to him. His hands were splayed across his stomach and his shirt was riding up a little and Darren found himself staring at the strip of skin he could see above the waistband of his shorts.

“Darren?” Grant asked again and Darren blinked and turned away.

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever thought about what your life would be like without this?” Grant made a gesture with his hand, something that encapsulated the beach and their friends and the situation that was their life.

Darren hummed, and wriggled his toes until he could feel the warmer sand further under the surface.

“Sometimes,” he said. It was true. Sometimes he remembered being less concerned about his appearance and less concerned about what he said in public. Sometimes he remembered giving his phone number to people and never wondering if that was a smart thing to do. Sometimes he thought about going to a public place and not signing autographs and not being recognised, and just sliding into another booth like any other person in the world.

Sometimes he thought of writing plays that went into another notebook, unseen and unheard. Or of writing songs and burning cds that sat unplayed. He thought about going to grad school or being a teacher or being anything other than who he was.

But not often.

“Me too,” Grant sighed, and Darren could hear himself in the sound. “I need another drink, but I can’t get up.”

“Maybe we could call for one and see what happens?” Darren suggested, imagining Chris’ face if he asked him for another drink.

Grant looked over at them, like he could read his mind, and shook his head. “Not worth it, man.”

“Okay, subject change!” Darren said, determined not to let Grant’s maudlin mood get to him. He rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. “Truth or dare?”

Grant arched a brow at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

He huffed a little, but eventually Grant closed his eyes and said, “truth”.

“Favourite moment on _Glee_ so far.”

Grant sort of huffed at him then, but Darren quickly added, “and I mean the _truth_ , Gustin. Nothing you’d say to a magazine.”

“Ohh, now we’re getting serious,” Grant drawled. “Okay, okay. Let me think.”

It was starting to cool a little, and Darren looked out over the ocean. The waves were rolling gently, but messily, a bit too choppy to entice him in. Plus, the water was probably freezing. Darren wriggled his toes a little, imagined he could feel the blood in his feet start to pump. He hated having cold feet.

“I think,” Grant said then, and Darren startled hard enough to slosh his drink. “I think my favourite moment was when I found a hickey on Colfer’s neck.”

Across the circle, Lea let out a low chuckle. “Ohhhh man,” she said. “That’s my boy!”

Darren frowned slightly -- he hadn’t heard this story. How hadn’t he heard it? He knew all the stories. Hell, he told most of the stories. He was naturally entertaining, everyone said so.

“When was this?” he asked, hoping the curiosity didn’t colour his tone too obviously. “I don’t remember hickeys.”

“I knew you were too authentic to be acting,” Chris said dryly. It was nearly dark now, the dusk hitting quickly out of the summer months, and Darren couldn’t make out Chris’ features clearly. “It was after the car scene,” he explained. “You left a hickey behind.”

“ _What_?” Darren gasped. “I _did_? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“Calm down, Brando, it wasn’t much. Grant just noticed it the next day.”

Darren shook his head and then blinked furiously when the movement sent sand into his eyes. How much was in his hair? This was just getting worse and worse.

“I just can’t believe I didn’t notice,” he said, and Grant leant over and poked him in the side.

“Cheer up, lover boy,” he said, and Darren didn’t need to see his face to see the grin spreading his lips wide. “You really know how to sell it. I thought you might make out with all your co-stars.”

Lea made a noise like a dying hyena and even Cory started chuckling.

“Truth,” Dianna said softly, “he’s got such lovely lips.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Darren sighed. “What happened to ‘what’s on tour stays on tour’?”

Grant laughed then, a full belly laugh that made Darren’s skin crawl with anticipation for what was coming next.

“Hate to break it to you, but I’ve already heard all about you being the cast bicycle,” he said. “I think my favourite story is Kevin’s.”

“NO!” Darren cried, and launched awkwardly to his feet. He stumbled a little, frantically heading for the ocean.

“Oh don’t go, baby!” Kevin shouted, “it’s so good! I don’t understand why you don’t like hearing about it more often.”

“I’m not listening!” Darren shouted and stuck his fingers in his ears for good measure. It threw his balance off a little but by the time he pulled them out he was a way down the beach and he couldn’t hear their cackling anymore. In fact, he couldn’t hear much of anything except the waves.

And... footsteps? Well, not even footsteps but that squeaky sound sand made when someone was walking on it. Quickly.

He had about five seconds to register the speed before he was tackled from behind, sprawling down face first into the sand, Grant’s giggle sounding loudly in his ear.

“Heyyy,” he said, limbs effectively caging Darren to the ground and sending pinpricks of warmth to every spot. “You smell great.”

Darren gasped a breath at the weight of Grant on his back and regretted it immediately when he started coughing up sand. He bucked up against the body behind him, mind buzzing gently in the way it always did when he’s been drinking and it probably shouldn’t surprise him that the way Grant pressed down on him made him think of sex.

He shifted enough so that he can roll and Grant rolled with him until they were spooning on the sand. It was dark enough that Darren could only really see the fire and soft outlines of the people around it, and all he could smell was salt and booze and _Grant_.

“I think I’ve got sand in my pants,” Darren said, mostly to stop from saying something more incriminating.

Grant chuckled, again. He was so easy with his laughs and it made heat pool in Darren’s stomach. And, when Grant pressed up firmly against his back, close enough to feel his groin nestle against his ass -- well, it made heat pool all over.

“So, do you?” Grant asked, close enough now that he could feel the vibrations through his chest.

“Do I what?” Darren murmured, his eyes focused straight ahead, completely unseeing as he isolated every movement Grant made behind him.

“Make out with all the cast?”

Grant’s voice was low and a little scratchy, and his hand slipped onto Darren’s hip. It was steady and a little heavy, not tentative or shy in the way Darren had assumed it would be. He took a deep breath, felt the way his body wanted to shift backwards into the warmth along his back.

“Not _all_ of the cast,” Darren said finally, his eyes slipping closed as he felt Grant’s hips push forward. “Just the ones I like the best.”

Grant made a sound then that seemed half moan, half laugh, and in the same breath had his lips pressed against the back of Darren’s neck. It was unexpected and soft, and Darren clenched all over in response.  

Then he felt Grant’s hand on his shoulder, tipping his head just far enough back that Grant could kiss him. They both tasted like booze, and it was slick and maybe a bit sandy, but Grant’s mouth felt hot and his tongue was sinful and it wasn’t long before Darren was gasping for breath. He pulled away, neck unable to hold the position, and shuddered when Grant’s tongue lapped circles on the skin on his back.

“ _Jesus_ ,” he breathed, and groaned as Grant bucked up against him.

“You feel good,” Grant said, face still tucked close.

It felt _phenomenal_ , sandy and warm, the ocean in the background, the quiet laughter of their friends just out of reach. Summer was ending, Grant’s future up in the air, and Darren wanted to wrap himself around those limbs and rub against him until he came.

He went to shift, let his legs move, but Grant’s hand was back on his hip in an instant.

“Mmm, no, I want you like this,” he said, and sucked a patch of skin on Darren’s shoulder. “Is that okay? Let me.” He thrust again, a bit harder, and Darren bit his lip against the noise threatening to fall.

“Yeah,” he said instead. “This is good too.”

“Wanted you since I saw you, first day on set.” Grant punctuated his words with a pump of his hips and now Darren could feel it, could feel the line of Grant’s cock against his back through his board shorts. He lifted his leg a little, ignored Grant’s noise of protest, and pushed it back enough for Grant to slip one of his in between. The angle shifted their hips, pressed them closer, had Grant thrusting up against him tightly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Grant said roughly, and then reared back. Darren heard the sound of velcro -- oh god, the board shorts. “Even in those clothes I could tell your ass was amazing,” Grant said, and then rubbed the length of his cock along Darren’s back. It was too dry, really, but the skin was smooth and hot even if the movement was jumpy. Darren barely lasted three thrusts before his hand was on his own cock, just pressing against the fabric.

Grant’s movement was jerky, not enough to really build a rhythm but somehow that made it even better. He rubbed his palm against his crotch, wanting to open up his shorts but too nervous about sand. Grant panted in his ear then, pushed his leg tightly up between Darren’s, so that his thigh was tucked up under his ass. Darren hissed as Grant’s leg, his fucking long leg, rubbed along his balls at the same time as his cock slid over the warm skin of his lower back.

And suddenly they were in sync, things falling into place despite the sand, the location, the booze. “Yeah,” Grant exhaled, “I want to fuck you.”

Darren groaned, and gripped harder at his cock.

“Would you want me to?” Grant asked, thrusting faster against him. Darren could feel moisture on his back, enough to smooth the slide of Grant’s dick along his back and he was riding Grant’s thigh like a pro.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, barely aware of what he was saying. “Like that, harder.” He wanted to grip Grant’s hips, wanted to flip them over so he could settle across his lap and fuck against him until he made a mess all over them but all he could do was grip and rub his cock through his board shorts. It wasn’t enough, could never be enough.

Then Grant groaned a low, raspy noise and thrust hard against him before freezing. It was a beat, two, and then Darren could feel the hot pulse of Grant coming over his back, and Grant’s fingers gripping hard on Darren’s hip while his thigh shook in between his legs.

“Oh fuck,” Darren said, and then Grant’s finger was running through the mess on his back in a way that shouldn’t feel good but _fuck_ , felt filthy, felt amazing.

“Come on,” Grant said, voice a bit raw, and he reached around with a come-covered finger, sliding into Darren’s mouth. He sucked it in, used his tongue to swipe off the taste of Grant, loving the way it mingled faintly with the taste of beer. Grant groaned again, almost helplessly. “Jesus,” he said, pulling his finger free and shoving his hand down the crotch of Darren’s pants. “You’re something else.”

His hand, still a little sticky, gripped his bare cock firmly and Darren made a noise he’d be embarrassed about later. “Next time we’ll do this on a bed,” Grant said, pumping his fist. “I want to see you.”

Then he thrust his thigh up, hard, gripped his hand tightly around Darren’s dick, and bit his shoulder. The three points of contact were too much, too much all at once, and Darren whined as he came, spilling into his pants and all over Grant’s hand.

“There you go,” Grant said warmly and only took his hand away when Darren shivered and squirmed.

They both rolled onto their backs, side by side. Darren looked up into the night sky, the same sky he’d looked at as a kid, lying on the grass of the local park and counting satellites.

“I’m a mess,” Grant said. He looked over and Darren met his eyes, couldn’t help smiling to match the one sprawled across Grant’s face.

“We could always wash off?” Darren clambered to his feet and offered a hand to Grant, grimacing when he felt the sticky wetness in his shorts. “Fuck that,” he muttered and then dropped his shorts. It was dark enough to risk it.

“Did you just--” Grant started, before laughing and dropping his own. Before Darren could get a good look, he took off to the water, and god those legs were fucking _long_.

“If we’re caught in here, it’s your fault,” Darren shouted as he chased after him, watching the glint of his white ass ahead of him.

“You’re the wild one, Criss,” Grant returned over his shoulder and then he was in the water, diving head under and resurfacing with a wild flick of his hair.

He looked beautiful like that, a spot of light against the dark ocean, teeth gleaming and splitting open his mouth.

Darren felt the splash of water as he hit the edge, brisk against his toes, and he kept running further until he could take a dive. His breath punched out of him as he submerged and he felt the cold water wash him clean. 

It felt like change. Like a new start.

Then Grant gripped his legs and pulled him backwards until he thrashed his way up to the surface, emerging with a yelp.

“Darren, are you in the _ocean_?” A voice cried from somewhere on the beach. McHale. Of course. “Oh man, are these your board shorts? Jackpot!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Darren said, and ignored the cackling of Grant behind him. New beginnings -- yeah, right.  

 


End file.
